


which part of you clipped your own wings (which part of you will you let live again)

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, I know my reputation's bad, I promise, TW: heavily implied self-harm, but NO ONE DIES IN THIS ONE, but Serena agrees to try therapy again, but nothing explicit and there is a hopeful ending, everything's a little fucked up but they're trying their best to work through it, no one dies, tw: depression, well tearful sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: Every time she's touched Serena since - a brief press of lips on her forehead, cheek or, occasionally, lips or an arm around her waist or an entanglement of fingers - it was fuelled by the most deepest human instinct, not desire or lust or hunger, but a different kind of yearning. The need to comfort the one you love.





	which part of you clipped your own wings (which part of you will you let live again)

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Serena's depression post Elinor's death.

This is the first time she's touched Serena in days.

  
It shouldn't be this hard to keep tears back. She understands it. She's a doctor and ex-army. She knows the way illnesses can manifest, especially those in the mind.

  
She understands it, but she doesn't.

  
It shouldn't be this hard to keep her hands from trembling. She rubs salve into the skin of Serena's thigh. Wants to do it, needs do it. Do something. Feels as if she's left Serena alone, pushed her away, even though it was the opposite.

  
And Bernie never questioned it.

  
Never questioned the loss of intimacy between them. Why should she? She can count on one hand all the times Serena and her have shared a bed since Elinor's funeral and it was never more than that. Bernie understood. Accepted it.

  
Every time she's touched Serena since - a brief press of lips on her forehead, cheek or, occasionally, lips or an arm around her waist or an entanglement of fingers - it was fuelled by the most deepest human instinct, not desire or lust or hunger, but a different kind of yearning. A need to comfort the one you love.

  
Serena touches her less than she used to - all those little intimacies she shared so freely, even in the middle of the ward, even before they were together, a fleeting skim of fingers on Bernie's arm or a pat on her shoulder or a nudge of elbows.

  
Bernie is often the one initiating touch now. Trailing fingertips down the soft flesh of Serena's inner arm, offering Serena her hand but never presuming Serena wants to hold it.

  
Bernie studies Serena. The tightening of her jaw or the tremble of her lips or the slump in her back. Offers her hand when she thinks Serena might need it.  
Bernie noticed all those signs, but not others, not until tonight. The first time she sees Serena undressed in weeks.

  
Bernie found a empty bottle of pills on the kitchen counter and didn't check in the bin where Serena had emptied the contents, before her head raced. Her heart quickly matched its speed. She ran up the stairs, saw the bathroom locked. Shoved it open.

  
Serena was fine, stood in her underwear and freshly showered. She was fine, except she wasn't. Startled, she grabbed a towel. Shouted at Bernie. Asked if her mother never taught her to knock.

  
"Serena," Bernie's breath was still uneven. "Serena, I saw."

  
-

  
"I don't want to talk about it anymore. Don't ask me -"

  
"Okay," Bernie promises simply, softly. "I won't." Bernie stands up from the edge of the bathtub. Places the cream back in the cupboard, slowly, makes sure Serena has enough time to pull on her pyjamas with a little privacy. When Bernie turns back around, Serena is buttoning up her top.

  
Bernie waits until she's finished before taking Serena's hands in hers. A touch not entirely unselfish, more for Bernie than Serena, so she can brush her thumb across Serena's wrist. Feel the pulse there.

  
Bernie leans in to Serena, shuffles along the edge of the bathtub and presses their shoulders together.

  
"Please," she asks, fingertip running against one of the more prominent veins of Serena's left hand, "please, talk to someone. I know it's hard - "

  
"You wanna bet?" Serena chuckles, nervously because if she didn't laugh she'd cry. And she isn't sure she could ever stop. Isn't sure she wouldn't pull Bernie close and bury her head into the crook of her neck, inhale the scent of her and close her eyes and never want to open them again. Never want to draw back and face the world again. Face the way Bernie's looking at her. It's not pity - Serena could convince itself it is, could convince herself it's disappointment or disgust or horror, but it's not. What's in Bernie's eyes is worse.

  
It's love.

  
In her voice too. Gossamer-light and pleading.

 

"Promise me you'll talk to someone. Seek proper help."

 

"I am."

 

"I know you've missed therapy three times now - "

  
"Then why never mention it before?" Serena jumps up, infuriated. "Why wait now to tell me off?" Like a bloody child who has told fibs and thought they'd gotten away with it, but each time the adult secretly knew.

  
" _Serena_."

  
"It wasn't working. I mean, I don't think you need me to spell out why."

  
"Sometimes it doesn't work, but there's different therapists. And if the next one doesn't work, there's another after that."

  
Bernie doesn't care if it takes half a dozen attempts for Serena to find the right fit, as long as she's trying to get the help she needs. But Bernie thinks she's guessed why Serena's stopped.

  
"And what if I don't want it to work?" Serena snaps, crosses her arms. "Hmm? Ever thought of that? What if I don't want do what you all are just so desperate for me to do. What if I don't want _move on?_ Get over it?"

  
"That's not - "

  
"There's all these stages. These steps. Step A: trauma. Step B: recovery. But sorry, no, _Serena grief is a process, and recovery isn't a destination, it's more like a journey_."

  
Bernie stands up, but doesn't step towards Serena. Knows she must leave space between them. Give Serena that space.

  
"Why are you being like this?

  
But Bernie knows the answer. Knows Serena isn't ignorant or judgemental with mental illness, anything but. Bernie's seen her with patients, saw her sensitivity and tact, as well as her good old British - tell it to F.O.H - attitude. Mental illness is like physical illness. If it's treatable, it's beatable and you can give it a good kick up the backside, Bernie's heard Serena tell patients, for her.

  
But Bernie knows why Serena's refusing treatment. Wonders when she stopped taking the anti-depressants.

  
"One step forward is one more away from her," Bernie realises.

  
"I don't want to let her go . . . they say it'll get better, that the pain will pass, but I don't want it to, not if it means . . ." 

  
Bernie can't help it, she must step forward - wants to pull Serena into a hug, cling on - but she lets Serena have the choice. A tear slips from Bernie's eye when Serena closes the gap between them, not fully, but a little bit. She reaches out for Bernie's hands and threads their fingers together.

  
Bernie smiles weakly. A little bit is all Bernie asks.

  
"These feelings . . ." Serena starts to sob. "They've all I've got left of her."

  
"I know," Bernie soothes, "I know." Her fingers draw circles on Serena's skin. Want desperately to draw Serena's body to hers.

 

"But there are other ways to . . . And you don't have to let her go. You'll always have her. The hardest part is learning how to live with that, keep her close, but not let the memories stop you from living."

  
"I don't suppose they gave you lessons in the army?"

  
"No . . . but you pick it up."

  
Serena turns silent, but she doesn't pull their hands apart. A good sign, Bernie hopes.

  
"Please," she asks again, "talk to someone?"

  
Serena drops her head, nods. Bernie feels one of her tears splash on the skin of her hand.

  
"Bernie?"

  
It's a question, and Bernie knows - in that moment, from the way Serena's voice quivers - that she would give Serena anything she asks.

  
"Kiss me?"

  
She doesn't expect that. Serena must see her brow furrow, because she squeezes Bernie's hands. Moves forward and guides Bernie's arms around her waist.

  
"Just . . . kiss me?"

  
Bernie knows she could never deny Serena that, brings their lips together. The first time in a long while. She goes slow, goes soft. But Serena doesn't. Pulls her tight and clutches at her hard. Kisses her hard. Kisses her hot and insistent. Bernie feels Serena's tongue in her mouth.

  
Breaks apart.

  
"We . . . " Bernie stumbles over her words. "You're . . . you're not thinking straight."

  
"I'm grieving, not insane."

  
"It's too soon . . . I don't want . . . I don't want you to regret it."

  
"Why would I regret it?"

  
"You might not know what you need. You might think -"

  
"I need you." She grasps Bernie's hand. "Please," she brings Bernie's hand to her cheek. "Make love to me."

  
Bernie falters, one last time. Serena sees the hesitation flicker in her eyes. Loosens her hold on Bernie's hand, but doesn't let it go.

  
"Unless," Serena says, knowing they've only talked about her consent so far, "unless you don't want . . ."

  
Bernie answers her by brushing her thumb over Serena's lips. Tracing it down to the cleft in her chin and across her jawline, before tilting her chin and tugging it gently to Bernie's. She captures Serena's bottom lip between her own. Kisses her so tenderly Serena could cry.

  
And she does, later, when Bernie does the same again, but this time with her head between Serena's thighs.

  
_There are other ways_ , Bernie remembers her earlier words. Other ways to ease the pain.

  
She looks up to Serena, chest flushed and heaving, breathing ragged, one hand fisted in the sheets, another at her mouth, teeth digging into flesh, stifling her groans.

  
"Let go," Bernie tells her, reaching one hand up and offering it for Serena to take. Serena pulls her hand away from her mouth, slides her fingers into Bernie's. Looks into her eyes.

 

"Let go for me."

 

And she does, comes and cries out.

  
And after when Bernie places one last kiss to her sex and slides up Serena's body to place one on her mouth, Serena sobs, loudly, freely until her head and nose and throat hurts, until she can cry no more.

  
Bernie holds her throughout.


End file.
